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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919151">autumn inadvertently plays matchmaker (plus drunk pizza)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/typingcat/pseuds/typingcat'>typingcat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Karaoke, Meet-Cute, drunk pizza dates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:34:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,827</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/typingcat/pseuds/typingcat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>zoey is forced to socialize the weekend before finals, which seems like a total curse, but ends up not being so bad.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zoey Clarke &amp; Max Richman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Favorite Zoey/Max Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>autumn inadvertently plays matchmaker (plus drunk pizza)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this dumbass plot wouldn't stfu for the past week. i know it's corny af but just humor me, okay? </p><p>please feel free to drop a comment if you read it! your feedback is always welcome and appreciated. trying to get character voices in an au plot was harder than i thought it would be!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“i’m <em>so glad </em>I was able to <em>drag</em> you out tonight. Finals will be what they are. No amount of studying will save us now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey takes a moment to respond, mostly because she’s still absorbing the atmosphere of the bar she’s just recently entered. There’s high ceilings and beams, drinks being poured in nearly every direction, and…<em>people</em>. Zoey Clarke isn’t much of a people-person, truthfully. Her favorite people are the ones that live only a short drive away back home: her parents. She’s not entirely a loner, she wouldn’t call herself that, but Zoey has found herself navigating between cliques and niches that were already fully-formed, fleshed out before her arrival, and continued to thrive upon her departure. She was a floater. It was something she never actualized until college, when she realized she would be on her own to find her own place with her own friends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fortunately, Zoey has found companionship in at least one person at Berkeley. She and Autumn met at transfer orientation, and maybe it was the warmth in her smile or Autumn’s ability to see the positivity in almost <em>any</em> situation, but something about them clicked. Most of Zoey’s other friends were those she met through Autumn, considering Autumn was an east coast transplant and Zoey was commuting back and forth to class. It was rare for Zoey to attend these nights out on the town, but tonight started the last weekend before the start of finals, and then Autumn would be on a plane back to New York as soon as she finished her last exam.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello?” Autumn smirks, nudging Zoey’s shoulder. “It would be nice to hear a, <em>thank you, Autumn, for convincing me to come with you and everyone else on your floor, I’m totally going to </em>kill<em> the karaoke game in fifteen minutes</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Zoey apologizes absentmindedly. There’s still something about this place that’s pretty impressive. It’s not like the other crummy college bars she’s used to, the ones that don’t ID (and if they do, they are <em>anything</em> but thorough). This one is certainly a step up and it’s giving her mild culture-shock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, you’re definitely singing?” Autumn eggs Zoey on, realizing she hasn’t received an answer. “Come <em>on, </em>Zo. It’s a sin that the only thing to be graced with the sound of your voice is the stuffed animal you keep in your car.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s <em>not</em> a stuffed animal. It’s a handmade crochet of The Child from the Mandalorian. And I worked really hard on it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever,” Autumn sidles up to the bar with Zoey’s wrist in one hand, as not to lose her in the growing crowd. She orders two shots of a flavored vodka Zoey deems entirely <em>too sweet — </em>she thinks it might be the flavor of Swedish fish — and then pushes Zoey in the direction of the emcee. He’s queuing up other song titles into his laptop, preparing the guests for the upcoming set. Next to him is a beat-up three ring binder, a notepad, and a stack of golf pencils.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll do a duet,” Autumn insists, skimming the plastic-covered pages of the binder, while Zoey is still feeling the burn of the sugary vodka in the back of her throat. Zoey notices her eyes light up when she’s discovered a song, and before she has a chance to inquire, Autumn has already written it down and placed it on the stack of papers next to the laptop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s something everyone knows,” Autumn reassures her. “Let’s go get another drink. I’m not drunk enough to sing to this room full of people. You’d think some of them were<em> X-Factor</em> rejects or something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The comment only resonates with Zoey once the current singer is hitting the chorus of Toto’s <em>Africa</em> on the small, makeshift stage. Until this point, his voice has bypassed her, falling into the background scenery of the trendy bar. She turns around to face the stage, red curls flipping over her shoulder. Her eyes meet his, and Zoey feels like the entire moment is something out of a romcom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her mystery singer is a man close to her age, Zoey guesses, with dark hair and eyes and an immaculate stage presence. She wonders idly what he’s doing in Northern California with a voice like that, because he belongs on Broadway, even if he is singing a <em>super </em>corny eighties ballad. He’s handsome, but Zoey convinces herself that half of the reason <em>why</em> he’s so handsome is the voice itself. It’s commanding and captivating and is holding the attention of nearly everyone in the room. Zoey realizes this once the tune approaches its close and fades out. The audience claps and whoops and Zoey finds herself joining in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s give it up one more time for <em>Max</em>!” The emcee’s voice amplifies over the noise in the crowd, which, upon request, grows louder and more enthusiastic. The man on stage is smiling, forehead gleaming with sweat, as he takes a modest bow before stepping down. Zoey is eyeing him the entire time. Her mouth is open in a little o-shape as she watches the fluidity of his movements. He’s reaching for his beer, standing at a bar table occupied by two other men. Zoey thinks she recognizes them from one of her coding classes, but she’s not entirely sure.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You are <em>absolutely </em>eye-fucking the <em>shit</em> out of that guy,” Autumn’s amused voice breaks Zoey’s trance, and Zoey snaps around in shock, a dusty blush sweeping across her cheeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, he was just…a really good singer,” Zoey defends herself warily, her gaze studying the knowing expression on Autumn’s features.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Autumn’s flat tone suggests she’s unconvinced. “And the fact that he’s hot isn’t exactly hurting his cause. You should <em>talk to him</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No. I don’t talk to guys. At <em>bars</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you should,” Autumn argues playfully. She puts a drink in Zoey’s hand — this time, it’s pink and smells like pineapple and cranberry juice and coconut. “What better time than the present, right? In two weeks, you’ll miss your opportunity, and be banished back to your parents’ house without any chance of seeing a guy as sexy as that one —“ Autumn tilts her head in the man’s direction — “again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not banished anywhere. I love my parents, and I love spending time with —”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop changing the subject and go <em>talk to him</em>!” This time, Autumn’s hand is nearing Zoey’s collarbone. She gives Zoey a little push backwards, moving her in the direction of the table crowded by the three men. Zoey steadies her footing, prepared to protest, before she feels her back collide with something else — someone else.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Shhhit</em>!” Zoey exclaims, realizing her drink has spilled over the rim of the glass. Thank god it only ends up on her shoes. A pink stain on white sneakers still draws less attention than a wet splotch on a blouse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Embarrassment pools in the form of heat, surrounding he ears and her cheeks, when she realizes just exactly who she’s bumped into.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the hell? Are you good, bro?” One of the men at the table turns around and comes face to face with Zoey. He offers her an offended look through dark brown eyes, but the glance turns softer and more flirtatious once he comprehends it’s Zoey standing behind him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, shit, sorry, sweetie,” he apologizes, but Zoey can tell it’s not entirely sincere. “Didn’t realize it was —”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A woman?” Zoey quips without realizing it, and the two men at the table begin to laugh. One of them Zoey recognizes as the singer, Max, the other, a dirty-blonde dressed in a blue cardigan and deep red chinos.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first man begins to stutter a response. “Uh, well, ye —”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cut it out, Tobin,” Max lightheartedly scolds the first man, who rolls his eyes, shrugs, and glances at the empty beer bottle in his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll get you another,” Max says, then turns his attention to Zoey. “You, too. What are you drinking?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Moments later, Zoey is fully surprised and even a little bit <em>proud</em> of herself for sitting at the bar next to Max. When he introduces himself, she stupidly replies with: <em>I know. I — I mean, I heard your name when the emcee announced it, and remembered it. </em>She feels borderline creepy, knowing his name before he has a chance to formally introduce himself to her, but in her defense, his name was announced publicly and she was captivated.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She learns he’s from New York (he’s actually from a neighborhood in Brooklyn bordering where Autumn is from, but Zoey’s east coast geography is a bit rusty, so she puts it together once the conversation has already shifted topics), he’s the youngest of three boys, his mother is harboring Jewish guilt because he plans on staying in California after graduating this month, and he thinks Taco Tuesday is overrated (“Honestly? Spaghetti Saturday is where it’s at. Especially after a night of drinking a little too much.”)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey shares with him information that, comparatively, seems far less interesting. Her major (computer science) and her plans after graduation next year (hopefully an internship at Google will turn into a full-time job, but she knows that’s wishful thinking, so she’ll settle for an entry-level position at at any startup, truthfully). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey’s phone vibrates in the back pocket of her jeans, and while Max excuses himself to the restroom, she checks it.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>Autumn Barry (11:43 PM)<br/></b> </span> <span class="s1">So your hot man had a couple of hot friends. We’re going for drinks at the dive down the block. Come meet up…when you’re ready! ;)</span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey sighs heavily and rolls her eyes, shoving her phone back into her pocket. Autumn was kind, funny, and trustworthy, but she wasn’t the most reliable person in San Francisco, which is terribly inconvenient for the present moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zoey? Autumn? Where are you?” Their names are being announced by the emcee, and another eighties ballad is playing over the sound system on the stage. She knows how embarrassing it is to perform this duet alone, so she pulls her phone out one more time, hurriedly types in a message, and darts towards the stage.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>Zoey Clarke (11:44 PM)<br/></b> </span> <span class="s1">You better get your ass back here RIGHT NOW I’M ABOUT TO SING</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A piano track plays while Zoey reads the song title and artist projected onto the small screen in front of the stage: <em>Alone - Heart</em>. She vaguely knows it; it’s one of the sappier, cornier love songs her parents liked to sing during the Sunday housecleaning sessions of Zoey’s childhood,and she begins singing, shakily, nervously, <em>praying</em> for Autumn to swing through the doors of the bar and join her on stage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">An unimpressed audience pays Zoey little mind as she shakily tackles the first verse. She realizes she hasn’t consumed <em>nearly</em> enough alcohol for this experience to feel comfortable, and then she wonders why Autumn selected such a sentimental song to sing in front of a room full of strangers. When she starts the chorus, some people shift their awareness to the petite redhead on stage. She’s clutching the microphone with both hands, eyeing the room in panic as it registers Autumn is not going to show up before the second verse, when the second singer is supposed to pick up the song. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>How do I get you alone?</em>” Zoey wails, feeling like the World’s Biggest Idiot. It’s painfully ironic she’s singing something that was meant to be a duet between her and Autumn, titled <em>Alone</em>, utterly, and fully, alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she inhales to continue her apparent solo, a new voice replaces hers. One that’s deeper, full of body and confidence, and as the crowd begins to cheer, her head snaps quickly to catch a clear view of Max. He offers Zoey a wink once they make eye contact, and she feels like she could melt into a messy puddle on the stage, in front of the entire bar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max takes the microphone from its holster, drawing his focus towards Zoey. He begins to circle her as the verse draws to an end. He vocalizes some <em>ohs</em> and <em>oohs</em> before they begin sharing the second chorus, Max harmonizing against Zoey’s melody. Her confidence builds with the sureness in his glance. Her movements are ones that are trying to emulate dancing, and Max responds with light laughter in between the the lyrics.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Holy shit, you totally <em>saved</em> me,” Zoey says out of the microphone, once the song reaches a synthesizer guitar break. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t mention it,” he replies kindly, and the two pick up the vocals for the last time. From the door of the bar, Zoey can see Autumn standing with Max’s two friends. Her arms are folded and there’s an impressed smirk playing upon her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The track slows to an end, and the crowd claps and roars with enthusiasm. Zoey and Max take their bows before departing, and she thanks Max a second time as they walk offstage.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Seriously, that was brilliant. You got there at the perfect time.” she breathes a sigh of exasperation as another brave soul vocalizes the introduction to Queen’s <em>Don’t Stop Me Now</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was nothing, seriously,” Max shrugs, smiling. “You sounded a <em>lot</em> better than you looked. I mean, you still looked great, don’t get me wrong, but you were definitely panicking. I’m glad I could be there to help.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey blushes and presses her lips together, avoiding eye contact. If she meets his gaze, she’s certain she’ll melt into that Zoey-shaped puddle she pictured earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a too-long pause in which Zoey is debating how to break the silence. He’s looking at her like he can’t quite figure her out. Her mouth opens to speak, unsure of how to continue the conversation, but he beats her to it. “Have dinner with me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um — uh…y-yes,” Zoey stammers, feeling heat rise to her ears. “D-do you want my number?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, yeah, but what are you doing now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He asks the question as if it’s normal, as if eating dinner at near-midnight is completely commonplace (but to be fair, it likely <em>is </em>on a Friday night in a college town, the weekend before finals).</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“N-nothing,” Zoey continues to feel uncool as the nerves get the better of her. But Max doesn’t seem to mind at all, and within ten minutes, they’re down the block, sharing slices of New York-style pizza and exchanging stories of their college experience. Max is also a computer science major, but he’s a year ahead of her in school, and that explains why they haven’t had the chance to meet in any shared classes. He tells her he would have remembered her, not in a way that’s presuming and explicitly flirtatious, but manner-of-factly. And that in itself is adorable, Zoey decides.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They exchange phone numbers and Instagram handles. They scavenge their profiles right in front of the other person across the small table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That way, we know right off the bat if the other person is a total whacked-out serial killer,” Max rationalizes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I were a serial killer, do you think I’d document the evidence on social media?” She challenges, arching a brow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither of them find incriminating evidence of anything, even minor infractions. Zoey finds images of Max’s family’s cat, his brothers, their family vacation to the Grand Canyon. Max uncovers visuals of Zoey’s microwave, completely dismembered, her parents, her brother’s wedding. Her cap and gown from her community college graduation. Zoey later texts Autumn from the restroom:</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>Zoey Clarke (12:36 AM)<br/></b> </span> <span class="s1">I’m heading to your place soon! Thank you so much for taking me out tonight…we’ll catch up when I get back :)</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They share an Uber to Autumn’s apartment, since Zoey always feels a little bit guilty returning to her parents’ so late after a night of drinking. The lights are on, indicating Autumn made it back in one piece. It’s the one point in the night in which she and Max don’t engage in endless conversation, but she doesn’t mind the silence. She notes that likes Max’s decision to make polite conversation with their driver.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The car pulls up towards its stop, and Max gets out to open Zoey’s door. They’re standing in front of Autumn’s building, exchanging awkward chuckles. Zoey can’t stop looking at Max’s lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This was really fun, Zo,” Max says, and Zoey’s heart flutters at hearing the nickname. It’s one <em>everyone</em> uses, but it just sounds so different, coming from this perfect stranger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was,” she agrees.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen, I know the semester is ending in like…a week, but would you be up for doing this again sometime? Maybe with less karaoke, less beer, and a proper dinner in substitution of pizza. Not that pizza isn’t proper, it’s just —”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d love to,” she interrupts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He grins, saying goodnight, but not before placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. Zoey’s body feels as though its been stunned. Her heart races and a smile curves upward on her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Goodnight, Max.”</span>
</p>
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